Same Time, Next Christmas

“You want some hot chocolate or something?” she offered.

Was she stalling? He wanted that story. He gestured at the armchair. “Sit. Start talking.”

She laughed that husky laugh of hers. The sound made a lightness inside him. She was something special, all right. And this was suddenly turning out to be his favorite Christmas ever.

She took off her own boots, filled his water glass for him and put another log on the fire.

Finally, she dropped into the brown chair across the coffee table from him. “Okay. It’s like this. I’ve been engaged twice. The first time was at Santa Cruz. I fell hard for a bass-playing philosophy major named Stan.”

“I already hate him.”

“Why?”

“Was he your first lover?” As soon as he asked, he wished he hadn’t. A question like that could be considered to be crossing a certain line.

But she didn’t seem turned off by it. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess—and I’m not sure yet why I hate him. Because I like you, I think, and I know it didn’t last with him. I’m guessing that was all his fault.”

“I don’t want to be unfair to Stan.”

Matt laughed. It came out sounding rusty. He wasn’t a big laugher, as a rule. “Go ahead. Be unfair to Stan. There’s only you and me here. And I’m on your side.”

“All right, fine.” She gave a single, definitive nod. “Please feel free to hate him. He claimed to love me madly. He asked me to marry him.”

“Let me guess. You said yes.”

“Hey. I was twenty-one. Even though losing my mom had rocked the foundations of my world, I still had hopes and dreams back then.”

“Did you move in together?”

“We did. We had this cute apartment not far from the ocean and we were planning an earthcentric wedding on a mountaintop.”

“But the wedding never happened.”

“No, it did not. Because one morning, I woke up alone. Stan had left me a note.”

“Don’t tell me the note was on his pillow.”

Stifling a giggle, she nodded.

“Okay, Sabra. Hit me with it. What did the note say?”

“That he couldn’t do it, couldn’t marry me. Marriage was just too bougie, he wrote.”

“Bougie? He wrote that exact word?” At her nod, he said, “And you wondered why I hate Stan.”

“He also wrote that I was a good person, but I didn’t really crank his chain. He had to follow his bliss to Austin and become a rock star.”

“What a complete douchebasket.”

“Yeah, I guess he was, kind of.”

“Kind of? People shouldn’t make promises they don’t mean to keep.”

Sabra sat forward in the big brown armchair.

Was he speaking from painful experience? She really wanted to know. But he didn’t want to talk about himself—not as of now, anyway. And those deep blue eyes had turned wary, as though he guessed she was tempted to ask him a question he wouldn’t answer.

“Keep talking,” he commanded. “What happened after Stan?”

“After Stan, I decided that my judgment about men was out of whack and I swore to myself I wouldn’t get serious with a guy until I was at least thirty.”

Now he was looking at her sideways, a skeptical sort of look. “Thirty, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“And as of today, you are...?”

“Twenty-five,” she gave out grudgingly.

“And why am I thinking you’ve broken your own rule and gotten serious since Stan?”

“Don’t gloat, Matthias. It’s not attractive—and you know, I kind of can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I think I’ve said enough.”

“No. Uh-uh. You have to tell me the rest.”

“Why?”

“Uh.” His wide brow wrinkled up. “Because I’m an invalid and you are helping me through this difficult time.”

She couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “I really think you’re going to survive whether I tell you about James or not.”

“So. The next guy’s name is James?”

She groaned. “The next guy? Like there’ve been a hundred of them?”

He sat very still. She could practically see the wheels turning inside his big head. “Wait. I think that came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. Not at all. I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re probably thinking I’m a jerk just like Stan.” He looked so worried about that. She wanted to grab him and hug him and tell him everything was fine—and that was at least the second time tonight she’d considered putting her hands on him for other than purely medical reasons.

It had to stop.

“No,” she said. “I honestly don’t think you’re a jerk—and look, Matthias, I’ve been meaning to ask you...”

Matthias felt like a jerk, whether or not Sabra considered him one. He’d been having a great time with her, like they’d known each other forever.